Daydream therapy is good for me because it’s available anytime, it has no time limit, it’s free, and nobody has to get hurt.
And so today I go to a giant rock in a relaxing sunny spot that I know about. “I’ll wait 5 minutes,” I say to nobody, because I’ve set no appointment and I think it’s highly unlikely that The Therapist will show.
But he does, right on time, and sits next to me.
He smiles and says, “How are you?”
“How did you know where to find me?” I say.
“I know how to meet you where you are.”
I think about that for a second and say, “That seems too good to be true, but thank you for showing up today.”
“Of course, you’re welcome. How have you been feeling since the last time we met?”
“I think I feel sad, but I can’t feel it right now.”
He says, “Tell me more,” and we both grin because he knows I like to tease him about how that’s a very therapist thing to say.
“I don’t think I want to talk about feeling sad,” I say, expecting him to push back.
But there’s no pushing in daydream therapy so he says, “Okay, what do you want to talk about?”
“I want to know when you’re going to stop caring about me. I’d like to know in advance, please, so I can be ready for it.”
“Why would you think I’m going to stop caring about you?” he says.
“Because I know you’ll hate me when I fail at therapy.”
He looks at me, surprised. “Why do you think you’re going to fail at therapy?”
“You know me. You’ve read my file. I’ve met with guys like you before. You’ll be great until you get upset with me or until I get upset with you and you take it to mean that I’m somehow disappointed in you, and then you’ll stop caring about me and you’ll leave.”
“It sounds like you’ve put a lot of thought into this.”
“I have,” I say. “I know I can’t stop it from happening, but I wish I could know when.”
“I understand,” he says. “You want to know how to prepare. I have a plan for the sort of situation you’re describing. Would you like to hear it?”
“Yes, please,” I say.
“My plan is to keep showing up.”
“What else?” I say.
“That’s it. That’s my plan.”
“I think that’s a weak plan,” I say.
“It might be.”
“You’re very passive for a therapist,” I say. “I thought you were supposed to be smart and comforting.”
“Ouch. You sound like you’re disappointed with me.”
“I’m frustrated because you’re being vague,” I say, “and I can’t tell if you’re doing it on purpose to annoy me.”
“I’m not trying to annoy you. I can see how it seems vague, but it’s actually just a simple plan.”
“To keep showing up?”
“Yes.”
“I think it’s going to fail.”
“I understand feeling that way.”
“I don’t want to talk anymore today.”
“Okay,” he says. “See you next time.”
I leave and think about my daydream therapist’s plan. It sounds like something that’s destined to fail and I almost decide to not go to daydream therapy ever again, but then I realize if I stop going, I won’t know if his plan would’ve worked.
I decide to test his plan a bit, not to be mean to him, but because I really don’t think I can handle getting hurt by him. If I try it and it looks like his plan’s going to fail, I can get out early with minimal negative effects.
The next time I want daydream therapy I’m going to wait on a bench in the big flower garden. I won’t tell him where or when, I’ll just show up and wait for him for five minutes. If he doesn’t show, that’s my answer. If he does, then I’ll believe that he really does know how to meet me where I am. And if he does it time after time, even when I’m frustrated or upset, then maybe, just maybe, l’ll believe his plan might work.
The time comes when I want daydream therapy again. I go to the big flower garden and sit on a bench.
“I’ll give him 5 minutes,” I say to nobody.
My daydream therapist shows up right on time and sits next to me on the bench.
“Hello,” he says. “I’m happy to see you. What would you like to talk about today?”